


Find Your Heart and Take it Back

by Randominity



Series: Shut Your Mouth and Hold  Your Breath [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Crying, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con References, Sexual Dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randominity/pseuds/Randominity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis continues his journey on the slow road to recovery, and Harry comes with him.</p><p><i>"Do you still remember, like, happy times, though?" Harry says. "Have you-- have. Have </i>we<i> had happy times, that you remember?"</i></p><p>
  <i>Louis cringes. "That's the trick question, isn't it," he asks, because there's no good way to answer that.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Your Heart and Take it Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disarm_d](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disarm_d/gifts).



"Hey," Louis breathes into Harry's mouth, hands leaving his face to clutch at Harry's hips. "Stop, stop," he says, and he can see Harry suck in a breath and brace himself with hands on Louis' shoulders as he pushes away with a shudder. He's gasping, and from above Louis can see the way he bows his head, can see the tension across his back. He wants to rub the tension away, but he can't touch Harry from here, from up on the ceiling.

He curls his fingers instead and closes his eyes and waits for the fugue to pass, until he feels Harry touch their foreheads together and feels Harry's breath puff on his face. He opens his eyes and Harry is watching him sadly, but Louis' learned not to apologise for this, for having moments like this. It's not his fault, he knows.

"Where'd you go?" Harry asks him, still a bit breathless, and Louis gives him a little smile, glancing up with raised eyebrows.

"Up there," he says.

"Was it a nice view?" Harry smiles back. Louis knows he's trying to normalise it, knows that he's trying to head off the uncomfortable conversations they've had about it in the past, like the time when he'd pressed Louis on the subject and Louis had squirmed and said, _"I don't know, it's just weird, all right? Like I'm a ghost and this isn't real and you can't touch me."_

"Of course," Louis tells him, putting his hands back on Harry's head. "All those gorgeous curls? I was loving it."

"But you're back here, now," Harry says.

Louis nods. "I'm back." He laughs a little, self-conscious. Harry's face is so close; he didn't realise. "Hello."

"Erm," Harry clears his throat and puts more weight on his legs, raising his arse up off of Louis' knees. "I'm a bit-- I got a bit worked up--"

"It's fine," Louis says. "'S flattering." He looks down at Harry's jeans, where his cock is a hard line pressing up against the fabric. "I can--"

"Yeah?" Harry says. "Is it all right?"

Louis reaches out and presses the heel of his palm against Harry, watching the way his eyes flutter closed and his lips come together as he swallows. Harry pushes back into him immediately, settling his weight back down over Louis' knees, but rocking up against his hand now, in small, quick motions. He whimpers and bites his lip and Louis knows he's close, was probably close before Louis stopped him, so he grinds back with his palm, curls his fingers down until they cradle Harry's balls through the denim, and Harry jerks, groans, coming in his clothes and opening his eyes with a gasp.

They grin at each other and Harry loops his arms around Louis' neck, burying his face in the side of it while he comes down. Later he'll whinge about the wetness in his pants and grumble as he goes off to change, but for now, Harry mumbles, "are you still here?" into Louis' skin, and Louis sighs.

"I'm here," Louis says. "I'm right here."

\---

"Can I ask you a question?" Harry says into the dark of their room, and Louis turns his head toward the sound of it. They're only brushing fingers, side by side on the double bed nearest to the toilet, because sometimes Louis needs the space between them, afterwards. Just sometimes.

Harry only asks like this if his question is about Louis' experience; it's his way of gently warning, and so Louis smiles, and hopes Harry can hear it in his voice. "Sure," he says.

"Do you ever still, like, _want_ to come?" Harry asks him meekly. "Sometimes? I mean, does it feel bad? Or are you just..." he lets go of Louis' hand to gesture into the air. "Not interested?"

Louis rolls completely onto his side to face the space he knows Harry occupies. He doesn't have to answer this. He can tell Harry as much and Harry will drop it, will maybe ask one of their friends from the support forums instead, but Louis wants Harry to get the answer from him. It's only fair that Louis be the one to explain how he himself feels. "It doesn't--" he begins tentatively, "I mean, it doesn't _hurt_. It's not like that. It... I just..." he shrugs against the sheets. "It just reminds me. Like, _coming_. And come. It reminds me."

"Do you still remember, like, happy times, though?" Harry says. "Have you-- have. Have _we_ had happy times, that you remember?"

Louis cringes. "That's the trick question, isn't it," he asks, because there's no good way to answer that. "You make me happy, Harry," he says. "And I feel like... I _want_ to be happy when I'm with you."

"But you're not," Harry says, softly.

"I-- _am_ ," Louis says carefully, "happier. And... I feel... _good_. You make me feel good. I just-- I want...." He trails off. He doesn't know what he wants, just yet. He wants to replace all of the ugly memories with memories of Harry, and sometimes he finds himself struggling, angry, because he can't and it doesn't make sense to him, because he has so many happy memories with Harry, and so few of everything awful in comparison. He wants, sometimes, to touch Harry and not be afraid of touching too much, to not be worried that Harry will lose control, that Harry will feel so good and so loved and want Louis so badly that he shouts and comes and gets them both messy. He wants to want it as fiercely as Harry does, wants to feel release and to chase the sensation and let go, to come, to come on Harry, in Harry.

"I feel like I'm waiting for something," he admits. "And I don't know what I'm waiting for."

"You're waiting to feel better," Harry says.

"I'm waiting to _get_ better," Louis says.

\-----

"We're so, so proud of you," Louis' mum murmurs fiercely into the top of Louis' head, arms wrapped so tightly around him that he couldn't squirm away if he wanted to. He doesn't, even though his hair's a bit soggy already from the wetness on his mum's face, as well as from the rain. His dad has him sandwiched in on the other side in the back of the cab, one arm crushed between Louis and his mum, the other kneading his shoulder, impeding his range of motion when he shrugs.

"You absolutely did the right thing," his dad says, "it's important you know that," and Louis presses his lips together into what he hopes is a reassuring smile, because what he wants to say, what he wants to ask, is why, if what he did was so good and so right, are they crying over his head in the back of a cab, Louis' report of sexual assault sitting on a desk in a police station in London.

"I know," Louis says, feeling around his fringe for wetness and smoothing it together. "I know, Dad, I know."

"We'll follow it up," his mum swears. "We'll check in every week if we have to, until they've collected enough statements against Cowell to make a case--"

"The minute they tell us, we'll pursue it--" his dad says.

"If I have to stalk contestants coming out the X-Factor studios, I will," his mum vows, and Louis shakes his head sadly.

"Mum, you can't do that," he says, with a rueful smile. "You'll get arrested."

"So unbelievably proud of you," she says again. "You're so brave. My brave little boy," she says, voice breaking, and she presses her cheek against his again, where Louis feels the warm wetness of her tears streak down between them. It's the talk about his case - official, now, a matter of London record - that eventually has Louis drawing up and out in his mind, looking down at the top of his head like he's asleep, damp spots from the rain adorning his shoulders. His mum's hand sweeps comfortingly over his back and he wishes he could feel comforted.

They get back to the hotel and Louis stays in his parents' room for the cup of tea his mum insists on while they ring the girls back at his Nan and Grandad's house and try to plan separate trips back to Doncaster like this was an ordinary visit, like they weren't brought together for this, for the worst possible reason. When he begs off to return to his and Harry's room, though, they don't press him. Louis knows they want to keep him close, will want to check in with him to make sure he's all right, but they can't force their company on him. He knows where they are if he's ready to need them.

He waits until he's back in his room to turn his phone back on, because he told Harry he'd let him know when he could come back from bunking with Zayn. The only messages he has from Harry are a _give 'em hell! xx_ , another series of kisses, and then _how did it go?? xx_ and when Louis sees the last one, his stomach clenches so badly he has to reach out and rest his hand on the bed for support.

He sits and stares at the message and his stomach aches as he can't help but think irrational things, stupid things like that he should have got more emotional, or sounded smarter, or described Simon's cock or something, as though there could be any change in his behaviour that could lead to any outcome other than the Constable's sympathetic, "well, we'll keep your report on file, and if there are enough reports, a solicitor may take your case."

The world twists under and around him as he replies to Harry with _they took a statement_ and then he stumbles to the toilet and vomits his lunch into the bowl, dropping to his knees. He gasps at the sharp pain in his stomach and is sick again, sick until the pain has him curling into himself, spitting into the bowl, and he realises that this is it. This is all he can do.

He moans through the pain, wanting to throw up until it's gone, wondering why it isn't gone when there's nothing left in him to bring up, and his vision blurs with tears. He sits back on his knees and hugs himself around the stomach and hears himself begin to wheeze, harsh breaths that aren't even proper sobs as his eyes overflow. It's not supposed to be his fault, not his fault he's not got physical evidence, not his fault he didn't throw a punch or that he waited this long or any of the things he knows are not his fault, but in the end all Louis has is a stomach cramp in a hotel toilet, struggling to breathe as he pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes, face slick with tears. He must be hyperventilating, he thinks. This must be what it feels like.

He left the toilet door open in his rush, so when Harry slips quietly inside their room, of course that's where he's drawn, hurrying over with a low curse.

"Louis, you're scaring me," he says urgently. "What happened?" and Louis shoves at him hard, getting up on all fours, flushing the toilet.

"No," he sobs, "no, I've been sick, don't-- I can't-- talk," because he's so _tired_ of talking, of telling his story, of being told he's brave and that he'll be all right. Harry gets in front of him, crouching down to do it, and hugs him, holding against his struggles while Louis fights and tries to push him away, just for a moment; then Harry lets go and ducks past him to re-enter the suite, and Louis can't even let himself be loved properly by Harry, hates himself, hates himself so much.

He eventually exhausts his tears, and probably every other source of moisture in his body, hunched over against the tub, and he forces himself to get to his feet. He cleans up the mess of his face in the sink, hiccoughing only occasionally, and wets his hair so his fringe isn't plastered sickly to his forehead. When he thinks he's on the verge of looking presentable, he steps back into the suite, and Harry's sitting at the breakfast nook holding a cup of tea, with one unattended across from him. "Thought you might like some," Harry says, indicating the other cup. "If you started to feel better."

"Thanks," Louis says, his throat raw. His stomach still hurts, like it's been storing up all of the terrible feelings he's avoided having and is forcing him to feel them in this one place and time, but he thinks he'll be able to keep it down. He walks stiffly over and sits, bowing over the cup and cradling it in his hands before taking a sip.

"I'm sorry," Harry says softly, looking down in his tea. "It doesn't look like it's gonna go anywhere, does it?"

"Well," Louis clears his throat, feeling only mildly soothed by the tea, "if some other survivors come forward, then there's a chance we could..." he shrugs, shaking his head. "I don't think so."

"Yeah," Harry says. "I thought so." He's silent for a long moment as they drink together. "Are you still here?" he asks, finally.

Louis's eyes are burning again and for a moment he's afraid that now he's started, he's never going to be able to stop. "I--" he says. "I don't _want_ to be," he admits. He's never felt like this and he's so used to flying away before he does that he's almost disappointed he can't manage it now. He pushes away his cup and stands. "Can we do something?" he asks, coming around to Harry's side and reaching for him. "Come here."

"What," Harry says, an uncertain grin starting on his face as he takes his hand and Louis pulls him in. Louis kisses him, hands sliding up to cup his face, tilting into it and tasting the sugar in Harry's tea on his tongue until Harry pulls back in his grasp, looking at him quizzically. "Are you all right?" Harry asks him. "I mean, you're obviously not," he says, "so why are you--"

"I just," Louis says, sneaking kisses on every corner of Harry's face Harry will let him. "I just-- can you please--" he can feel the warmth of Harry's hands where he's gripping his arms, and he can see the spots at the corner of Harry's jaw when Louis tucks his nose in to smell him. He can feel the ache in his stomach and the grit behind his eyes and the sick, uneasy sense of uselessness, like he's been waiting on a train that's never going to arrive.

He tugs Harry back with him toward the bed, holding him so close they stagger into it, then fall back on it, and he pulls Harry over him, straining to kiss him, fingers threading through Harry's curls. He feels something like desperation and it's close enough to need to make Louis want to use it. He's afraid he'll never want Harry to kiss him more urgently again than he does right now.

"Louis," Harry says, breaking away again, and his eyes look wild, his hair curling over Louis' fingers and his lips already on their way to swollen. "Louis, you can't be serious," he says, his voice deep enough that Louis knows he's got to him. He pulls Harry down until he rests between Louis' spread thighs and rocks up against him, feels him hard, already. He hooks his legs around Harry's, and Harry twists away.

"You don't want me to do this," Harry says urgently, wiping at his mouth with his fingers. "You _can't_ , Louis, you can't do this to me, you know I want--"

"I want it, too," Louis tells him hoarsely, reaching out for him.

"You can't _possibly_!" Harry hisses. "You've had bad news, you've been sick, you feel awful--"

"Exactly," Louis says, his voice rising and then giving out. "I _feel awful_ ," he says, gesturing to himself. "I don't want to feel _awful_ anymore. Why won't you help me?"

"Because I don't want you to feel bad when I touch you," Harry says, his face crumpling. His eyes are bright and wet with unshed tears. "I don't want you to go away because I touched you."

"But _why_ ," Louis pleads, stretched thin. "What if I _want_ to go away right now? Why can't you just touch me and it feel good because _you're_ good?" He runs his hands through his hair and then digs the heels of his palms into his aching eyes again, but there are no more tears, despite the pain in his stomach. If this is all he has, all the pain he has to feel, he doesn't want it.

"You can't just use me like that," Harry says, his breath coming out ragged. "I won't let you." Louis hears Harry breathe like that, just breathing for a few moments, before he shifts again on the bed; Louis holds his breath, afraid to look, afraid that Harry's going to leave, that he's gone too far, but then he feels Harry's hand tentatively settle on his shoulder. "Look," Harry says, sighing heavily. "If you want, I can-- can I touch you?" he asks, and Louis parts his hands over his eyes to look at him.

"How do you mean?" he asks, confused. "Weren't you just saying--"

"Can I touch you like this?" Harry says pointedly, tracing his hand lightly down Louis' bicep, fingers curling into the crease of his elbow.

Louis tucks in his chin and looks at Harry's hand. "I don't understand," he says weakly.

Harry takes a deep breath and drags his fingers past Louis' elbow, touching his fingers to Louis' ribs. "Can I touch you like this?" he asks again, pulling his legs up to cross them before him on the bed. He gives Louis a hopeful look, pursing his lips.

Louis frowns. "Yes," he says, though Harry's already touching him just like that, so he doesn't see the point. Harry shifts himself up a little closer to Louis, until his knees brush Louis' sides, and he trails his fingers inward, past Louis' ribs and over his belly. He's touched Louis here plenty of times; hugging him from behind, or rubbing his thumbs over Louis' bare skin with his hands on Louis' hips, but this touch is almost curious, rather than possessive, and butterflies flutter on the edge of the pain in Louis' stomach as he sees what Harry's getting at. He tucks his arms down by his sides and glances between Harry's face and hand and tries to remember to breathe.

His shirt has ridden up over the waist of his trousers and Harry smooths it back down as he passes his hand over it, rubbing the flat of his palm over Louis' navel and then down the side of one hip to his thigh. His touch is still light and the flats of his fingers catch in the seams of Louis' waistband, but he keeps on with slow movements, making a deliberate pass up and down Louis' thigh, over his waistband, and back again. "Are you still here?" he asks.

"Yeah," Louis says, rapt, watching Harry's fingers sweep below his waistband, closer than he's ever been before to Louis' cock. He keeps his fingers flat as though he's checking a shelf for dust, neither a grope nor a tease, and one sweep lower Louis can just feel the press of the pads of his fingers across the base of his penis. He looks at Harry's face and Harry's gaze is cast downwards, focused on the path of his fingers as he gnaws on his lower lip. "This isn't very sexy, Haz," Louis says, and makes a breathy attempt at a laugh. Harry's hand is shaking slightly, and Louis feels a rush of affection towards him. 

Harry releases his lip to give Louis a wry smile. He says, "'s kind of the point," and drags his fingers down a little farther. He's at the base of Louis' flies now, and the path of his fingers crosses from one thigh to the other, nudging the head of Louis' cock through his trousers, brushing his balls. It's not at all erotic and he's not at all physically stimulated, but Harry's hand is on him, Harry's fingers are on him and he can feel them, the touch of them through the fabric. He catches his breath, and Harry stops, lifts his hand.

"Louis?" he asks, hushed. 

"I'm here," Louis says, stunned. He didn't go away at all. His stomach aches and he still feels so, so far away from the way he wants to be and the way he wants to feel, but for now, he is here.

Harry's cheek dimples slightly. "Can this maybe be a better memory?" he asks, in a small voice.

Louis rolls on his side to face Harry and reaches out for him. "Haz, you must be dying to come by now," he says, but Harry shakes his head and extends his legs to lay down across from him.

"No," he says, "no, this was, like, clinical and stuff," he waves his hand. "I knew it wasn't like it was gonna go anywhere. I'm good. Really." He shrugs. "I know it's not what you wanted," he admits.

Louis leans in and loops an arm around Harry's neck, pulling him close. He worms his other arm down under Harry and smooths it over Harry's shoulderblade. "It's a better memory," Louis tells him, shaking his head into the curve of Harry's neck. "I'm really glad," he adds. "I was feeling like that could never happen."

"You can't ask me to do stuff that'll hurt you, Lou," Harry re-iterates, into the top of Louis' head, like so many comforting words spoken into his hair today alone. "Just because I want you doesn't mean I'm them."

"I know," Louis mumbles into Harry's skin.

"I'm not them," Harry says.

"I _know_ ," Louis says. He presses his nose into Harry's curls. "You touched my dick," he says, lightly. He waits for Harry's hum of acknowledgement before he adds, "I think that makes you my boyfriend."

\-----

"Wait," Harry gasps, "wait, wait, I have to stop," and when Louis draws back, he makes a determined face, line forming between his eyebrows.

Louis props himself up on his side, pressing his hand to Harry's chest, which Harry pushes at half-heartedly as he closes his eyes. Harry bites his lip and whimpers, his hips lifting off the mattress in tiny punches of motion, and Louis laughs, shaking his head.

"Well, if you could just stop fucking the air, Harry," he says. "I can see your problem already."

Harry growls petulantly, cracking open an eye, and then he rolls away from Louis, getting up off the bed. "I'm pretty worked up," he mutters, as though Louis isn't hard as well, as though Louis hadn't been pushing down with his own hips, considering stopping Harry himself before he had a chance to float away from everything around him.

"You don't have to _leave_ ," Louis says, as Harry makes his way into the toilet. "Since when do you have to _leave_? Haz, I was _joking_." Harry closes the door, and Louis calls after him. "What are you doing in there? Harry? Harry, what are you doing?

"Shut up!" Harry bellows at him through the door. "Oh my _god_."

"If you're in there touching your willy because you think I won't touch it," Louis yells, "I'm going to be very upset." Harry doesn't say anything in response, and Louis looks down the length of his body to his own erection, his lips still tingling from the way they'd just been kissing. "I would touch it, Haz," he yells.

Harry runs the tap for a bit and then steps out of the toilet, flush-faced but calm. "I wanted to give you my full attention," he says carefully.

"I'm pretty sure I have your full attention when you're coming," Louis points out.

"But then when that happens," Harry says, stretching back out on the bed next to Louis, "it's just, like," he holds his hands out, " _over_. We just, like, roll over and go to bed like we're old or something." He turns over to face Louis. "And I never get to do anything for you."

"You always _ask_ ," Louis says, shrugging.

"And you always say no," Harry agrees, "and, I just. Well, now I'm here, and let's just pretend I can start with you for once. I've touched you before," he says, tugging Louis closer, encouraging him to slot his hips up against Harry's, "when I was calmer. Can I maybe do something else this time?"

He waits for Louis' hum of agreement before kissing him, catching Louis' lower lip between his own. Louis throws one leg back over Harry and tilts his hips up for contact with Harry's, lets Harry's hand come to rest on his arm as they each pull one another closer. His rhythm is quick, picking up where he'd left off before Harry stopped them, but Harry meets him with lazy body rolls, still not quite soft from his orgasm but obviously in no hurry. It's the first time Louis can think of that he's been more eager than Harry, and a strange sense of hyper-awareness settles over him, like he can be allowed for once to focus on details like the way he can still see slivers of Harry's eyes when he closes them to kiss, or the way his nostrils flare when he inhales.

Harry opens his eyes to catch Louis staring, and Louis pulls away and ducks his head, averting his gaze. "What kind of things are you thinking," Harry murmurs, "when you get like this?"

Louis rests his forehead against Harry's collarbone and tries to still his hips, feeling his own shortness of breath deep in his chest. "It feels good," he says, "like, nothing specific, but-- pressure." He twists from side to side, cock brushing Harry's hip bone, breathes out against Harry's skin.

"Is it anything to do with me?" Harry says softly, fingers ghosting gently over Louis' shoulder.

Louis tips his head up to look at him, but finds he can't quite make eye contact again. "I like _this_ ," he says, touching his lips to Harry's jawline. Harry turns into it and Louis closes his eyes to kiss him, reaches up to loop his fingers in Harry's hair and tug him into a proper snog. It's hot, Harry's lips soft and his tongue in Louis' mouth and he feels the soft flicker of heat low in his belly making him harder; he wants to curl into it. "I start to feel," he pulls back again, breathing harder, "like, I _think_ I want to come, but then it just--" he nudges his hips against Harry's again, watches Harry's lips part, but there's no heat to it; Louis feels no connection between the answering pressure on his dick and the way Harry's rocked up against him. He might as well be rubbing off on the mattress, on his pillow, or anything else that could get him off and won't be disappointed that it's serving as any port in the storm.

"But you could," Harry prods. "If you just kept on."

"I--" Louis hesitates. He probably could, if he pushed; even if he floated off to some corner of the room he could probably still get there. But then there'd be come on the inside of his pants, and on his skin, and then he'd never be able to get away from it. He can taste the want of it, of coming, but it's not worth that to him. "Well, it'd get messy, wouldn't it," he says. "You know all about that." He sighs and rolls away from Harry, over onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms so he won't feel quite so exposed. He can't kiss Harry forever, and he already feels strung a bit tight with having gone harder and softer again so many times in one session. Harry stays quietly next to him, hand sweeping slowly over his own stomach, touching himself idly until he sits up again.

"What if you wore a condom?" Harry suggests.

"What, in my _pants_?" Louis asks, incredulous, but he feels his cock kick up a bit into the mattress at the thought of coming, clean, like that. Compartmentalised, like his thoughts.

"Would you feel less bad about it if you did?" Harry says.

"I don't know," Louis says thoughtfully.

"Would you feel better about it if _I_ did?" Harry asks him.

" _Where_ do you get these ideas?" Louis wonders, instead of letting himself think about it, about touching Harry properly until he's desperate for it, until he comes, and not having to worry about letting go. "It's like you're doing _research_."

Harry shrugs. "There's loads of forums," he says. "Different stuff works for different people." He touches Louis' elbow. "Do you want me to try it? I can go first."

"We could just get a bunch of condoms, yeah?" Louis says softly.

"Yeah," Harry says, nodding decisively, and then he gets up off the bed. "I'll be right back," he says, with a grimace.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "God _damn_ , Harry," he says in disbelief, "just from _talking_ about it?"

"Well, there's been a lot of touching as well, hasn't there?" Harry shoots back over his shoulder on his way to the toilet.

\-----

"No," Harry mutters, panting and writhing under Louis. "No, I have to-- I'm too tired to have to shower now-- let me up."

"You could just lay in it," Louis suggests, pressing down on Harry's cock with the inside of his thigh as he bites Harry's earlobe. Harry groans long and low, and Louis says, "it'd be _your_ wet spot."

"But it'd be _your_ fault. I have to go," Harry whines, slapping Louis' pinching fingers away and then squirming out from under him, shoving the sheets aside and stumbling into the toilet.

Louis huffs loudly so that Harry will hear it before he closes the door, and then he rolls over onto his stomach, rocking his hips gently into the bed, just once. He listens closely to see if he can hear Harry breathing, or the slap of skin on skin; then he thinks hearing either of those things would probably not help his actual condition, and lifts his pillow to put it over his head. He contemplates touching himself for a moment, works his hand between his cock over his pajamas and the sheets to push back on himself with his palm. It's the hard kind of pressure that hurtles him up a notch, his weight bearing down rather than his forearm strength powering his grip, and he gasps, realisation making him tense up and stop. He could come in a minute like this, on his hand and in his pants and with nothing on his mind.

Instead he pulls his hand back out from under him and spread eagles in the middle of the bed, frustrated and warm with exertion and arousal. He pulls the pillow off his head and yells, "Harry," half into the fabric, and Harry runs the tap, the sound of his toothbrush hitting the basin barely audible over it.

"What," Harry eventually says grumpily as he climbs back into bed, minty fresh and not hard at all. Louis bites his lip.

"Are you happy?" he asks.

Harry slaps him on the upper arm. "That's a silly question," he says. "Of course I am." He grins. "Living a dream, fit boyfriend--"

"Fit _older_ boyfriend," Louis says.

"Fit older boyfriend," Harry repeats.

"Who can drive," Louis adds.

"How could I not be happy?" Harry concludes, looking at Louis slyly through his lashes, his smile just large enough to dimple his cheek.

"Because," Louis sighs, and rolls onto his side, still half-hard through his pajama bottoms, "you have this fit, older, experienced boyfriend and you still have to have a wank by yourself in the toilet half the time."

Harry looks chastised. "I thought we said you were done apologising for stuff," he says, slowly.

"I'm not apologising," Louis says. "Just pointing out the facts of the situation."

"I'm happy," Harry says, frowning. "I just want you to be, too. I don't care about all the other stuff." He leans over and drapes his arm over Louis' side. "Can I--" he starts, in a low voice, but he already looks a bit sleepy.

"No," Louis says, taking Harry's hand in his and removing it from his hip, but continuing to hold it between them. "I'm all right." He traces his fingers over Harry's hand and puts the other on top of Harry's head to play in his hair until Harry's eyes close and his breath evens out in sleep.

When he's certain Harry's out, Louis carefully extracts himself and pads to the toilet to have a wank in the shower. He'd normally have no problem waiting until morning, making it part of his routine - quick and methodical - but then he and Harry had started fooling around rather late, and, well. His cock's still not gone fully soft when he strips down and gets in under the water, like it knows how close he'd got to coming. He feels wound up like a spring held back until the entire mechanism starts to shake, and it's almost a release in itself to get his hand round himself to start to stroke.

This way it's less intense than it had been touching himself on the bed, but he's been turned on for so long previously that he's immediately hard again, picking up where he'd left off as his lips part in an attempt to get a bit more air. He looks down the length of his arm and watches himself, the glimpses of his cock through the rapid motion of his hand. He can feel himself getting closer to coming, not quite what he'd call arousal, but his muscles are tensing, breath coming shorter and his thighs starting to strain, just this side of release.

Any other day he'd close his eyes, or fix his gaze on the tile behind the shower spray. Today he thinks about what Harry had to say, thinks he's maybe been afraid for too long, and so Louis leans out of the spray of water and anxiously watches, gasping and curling into himself as he starts to come, and he tries to remember that it's _his_ come. It's not Louis Walsh's, and it's not Simon Cowell's. It's _his_ , there's nothing wrong with it, and it's never hurt anybody.

At the first white streak that splatters over his fingers, Louis' knees give out as a wall of cold rushes over him, and he leans with his free hand against the back tile, shuddering through it. He lets go of his cock, still pulsing out the remains of his orgasm, and quietly moans out a sick protest, letting the wall hold him up because the floor, the rest of the world, is in danger of falling away.

He reaches out his hand to rinse it with the spray and then sags back, numb, shivering with his hair dripping over his cheekbones, down the back of his neck. He stays until the room is no longer filled with steam and he's covered in goose prickles, shivering with the splashes of chilled water coming out of the tap, the hot water exhausted. His teeth chatter as he slips back into his pajama bottoms and climbs back into bed with Harry and he stares up at the ceiling. He wonders if he's going to have to look away forever; if he's going to spend the rest of his life closing his eyes or staring at the wall or coming into condoms or wanking in the shower because he can't stand the sight of his own self.

\-----

"Look what I've brought," Harry says proudly, taking a box from under his arm and brandishing it triumphantly when he gets inside their room.

"Condoms!" Louis cries, waving his fists in the air. "Did you buy a jumbo pack or something," he asks, coming over to look at them over Harry's shoulder as Harry opens the box.

"Yeah," Harry nods. "Also a lot of sweets, and some newspapers," he says, "to cover them up in the trolley."

"Now there's a brave man," Louis tells him, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulder. "Now if only we could find a way to make use of all these," he says, stroking his chin.

"Well, I was thinking it wouldn't just be for us," Harry says. He gives Louis a sidelong glance. "I was thinking maybe you could use them, too. You know," he shrugs a shoulder, "for whatever." Louis removes his arm from around Harry's shoulder to pull away and look at him properly, but if Harry has any inkling of how Louis goes about things when he's on his own, his face doesn't give it away.

"Yeah," Louis says carefully, "maybe I will," and he reaches into the box for a handful of the condoms, shoving them down deep into his pocket and then bussing Harry quickly high on the cheek. "Thanks."

\-----

"D'you think that'll be secure enough?" Harry asks Louis, voice low and slightly mocking, but Louis refuses to take the bait.

"I just don't see how it's not going to tear anyway, when we get going again," he says, as he finishes pulling up the zip on Harry's flies over his pants. He pats it, fastening the button for good measure. "There we go. How do you feel, Harry?"

"Like I'm wearing a parka on my dick," Harry tells him. "It's not gonna tear."

"It _might_ tear," Louis says.

"And if it tears," Harry continues, "We'll just-- we'll put on two condoms next time."

"Well, if you're gonna wear _two_ condoms, what's the point of even _doing_ anything, then," Louis says sarcastically, rolling his hips down against Harry. He can still remember using a line of argument like that unironically at one point in his life, but Harry just sighs and arches his back beneath him. "That was funny, admit it," he says, poking Harry in the side. "Proper use of irony and everything. I'm hilarious."

"I can't feel anything," Harry says.

"You're lying," Louis says, reaching down to brace himself with his hands on Harry's chest. He flicks his fingernail over one of Harry's nipples and then reaches down to pinch at the baby fat above his hips, alternating between rocking down on him and rubbing from side to side. He's slightly determined to prove himself right and destroy the condom through their layers of clothing, as ambivalent as he remains about the notion of Harry coming right up against him. He slides his hands round beneath Harry's arse and pulls him closer, matches the short, quick rhythm he knows Harry gets going when he's close, and he feels Harry's breath coming in hot puffs into his hair where he's ducked his head.

"Louis," Harry gasps, reaching out to grasp his arm like a warning. "Louis, I--"

"Do it," Louis says, squeezing Harry's hips between his thighs and propping himself up with his hands on either side of Harry's head. "Just do it, do it--"

Harry sucks in a breath and his body goes taut beneath Louis; Louis can feel the faint shift as Harry's dick jerks up and he jolts, raises up on his thighs without thinking in a rush of adrenaline. Harry's eyes fly open despite his shudders and he digs his fingers into Louis' forearm and Louis says, "sorry, sorry, I'm here," even though he's not to apologise anymore, because he said Harry could, needled Harry on.

"How are you?" he asks, when Harry's let go again, letting himself slide off of Harry's hips to the side, keeping their legs entangled.

Harry glances down the length of his body and tucks his fingers inside his waistband, frowning. "Erm," he says. "I don't feel anything."

"You're lying," Louis says again. "You must feel _something_."

"What I mean is," Harry lifts his waistband and peeks. "It's not wet. I think it's not broken."

"It isn't?" Louis' genuinely surprised, and he shoves at Harry's hands to help him unbutton and zip himself down. Harry reaches inside his pants and grimaces.

"Okay, I think there _is_ a tear," he says, feeling around, "but it's like, just on the bottom." He pulls his hand out and shimmies his hips at Louis. "Now you," he says, grinning up at him.

Louis cringes. "You know," he says, "I'm not really sure." He gets up on his knees and rubs his hands over his thighs.

Harry's grin slips, a line appearing between his eyes. "How do you mean?"

"I mean I'm not sure," Louis shrugs. "I hadn't really thought past the 'oh, no, the condom's broken and it's horribly messy inside my pants' conversation I was expecting us to have. The moment's sort of..." he waves a hand. "Passed." The thought of trying to get worked back up enough to fit a condom on and awkwardly trying to finish has lost its appeal, now that the edge is gone off his arousal.

"Well, if you want us to be done for now, then," Harry gnaws on his lip thoughtfully. "Can I ask you a question?"

Louis smirks at him from beneath his fringe, wanting to make a joke about taking a third option, but instead he says, "go ahead."

"You wouldn't have to use a condom, or, even see anything," Harry says carefully, "if you, like... came inside someone." Louis raises his eyebrows at Harry so hard he feels his fringe shift, and Harry rushes to add, "Like their mouth, I mean. Like, _my_ mouth."

"That's all right," Louis tells Harry, even as Harry licks his own lips as though he unconsciously wants to advertise. 

"No, hear me out--" Harry protests.

"I'm familiar with blowjobs, Harry," Louis says.

"--because," Harry says, "you don't even have to do anything, or work at it, and, like, the sensation's gonna be different, so you might not get all distracted, and then," he gestures broadly, "it's like a kiss, isn't it," he says. "I mean, you have to have had one, right?"

"They're not that great," Louis says, pointedly, and Harry pauses, mouth open in the midst of forming a word. His eyes widen and he claps his hand over his mouth.

"Oh," Louis hears him say. "Oh, no, no, I'm sorry." He shakes his head, fringe coming untucked and falling over his forehead. "I've just asked you the worst possible thing in the worst possible way, haven't I?" He reaches out to touch Louis' arm. "I'm so sorry."

Louis shakes his head dismissively. "I just don't think you really want to do that," he says.

Harry squints at him, considering. "I kind of _really_ want to do it," he says. "I've kind of been thinking about it a lot." He presses his lips together. "Should I have told you that?"

"Well, I can--" Louis shrugs, scanning the ceiling for the right answer, for the words to describe the strange sort of hope he felt bubble up when Harry had said _it's like a kiss_. He's never had a blowjob he considered even remotely kiss-like, but he doesn't have to give it, and he knows Harry's mouth. He's kissed it, and he knows how it feels, has memorised the contours of it and knows Harry's tongue and the way he breathes when his mouth is full. Louis' cock's more interested in the idea than he thought it would be. "I can _consider_ it," he says.

"You would?" Harry sits up a bit straighter. "Not just for me, though, right?"

"Not _just_ for you," Louis says, voice light, and then he rolls his eyes. "So do it," he says, before he can lose his nerve.

Harry nearly chokes, eyes wide. "Now?"

Louis rolls over onto his back and cups his hands over his cock through his trousers, a bit self-conscious. "Just don't, like... ogle me, yeah?"

Harry glances down the length of Louis' body, and shakes his head. "Yeah, no," he mutters, "of course," and then his brows furrow in concentration as he moves himself down the bed, straddling Louis' legs and placing careful hands over Louis' where they're covering himself. Louis unfastens his own button and lowers the zip, and Harry keeps his gaze locked with Louis', barely hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of Louis' pants. "Can I?" he asks, in a thick voice.

"Go ahead," Louis says, and tries to bury his face in the crook of his elbow.

He'd never have thought he could start getting harder out of sheer nervousness, but he realises, as his cock stirs, that there's an element of anticipation as well, that he remembers this and how it can feel and that there's some part of him, somewhere, that wants this. He feels Harry's breath over him and he knows Harry must be looking, has to know where to put his mouth, and then Harry _kisses_ the tip of his dick and he's fully hard again, just like that. "Don't," he whines from behind his arm, face hot with embarrassment at how quickly he's been affected, like he's fourteen again and it's the first time he's ever been touched. "Just get on with it."

Harry takes him into his mouth then, without any touch of hands to steady him, and it's familiar at once, both the sensation of being sucked and the memory of Harry's mouth, the way Harry's lips feel latched on his collarbone, around his nipple. Louis squirms beneath Harry, ungainly in his movement and unwilling to buck into Harry's mouth, afraid of his own hypersensitivity. He drifts a bit, in and out of his body in quick jumps too brief to voice, like he's aware this is almost too much, and for a moment he's afraid he might not get there even like this, that he won't be able to let go enough even to get a proper blowjob.

He's about to tell Harry he's had enough when his orgasm punches through him like a bolt, sharp, tearing a cry from him as he comes, back arching. It's over quickly, but he feels Harry sputter at the suddenness of it, feels Harry's mouth release him to give a choked cough, and he's not quite sure he's finished. "Harry," he gasps, "no," trying to draw his legs up and together at the same time, but Harry stills him.

"You're good," he says, though he's still clearing his throat. "You're fine. I told you no mess, right?" Louis shifts his arm from over his eyes just enough to see Harry's red face as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Harry gestures down Louis' torso as he gets off of him. "I'll let you get yourself sorted," he says, clearing his throat again and backing up off the bed. He pats himself down sheepishly. "I should probably..." he jerks his head toward the toilet.

"Yeah," Louis says, clearing his own throat when he hears the rasp in his voice, as he rolls toward the opposite side of the bed and tucks himself back in gingerly. "Here's where I'd say it's customary to compliment my size, or say you weren't prepared, or something," he calls after Harry.

"I _wasn't_ prepared," Harry shouts back, through the toilet door. He's silent for a few moments and Louis lays back out on the bed on his stomach, thinking about what's happened, how long it's been and how strange and unexpected it was to come in front of Harry. "Would you want to do it again?" Harry calls, quietly, through the door, and Louis considers it. It wasn't awful. It wasn't very sexy, either, and it wasn't perfect.

"It was a bit-- intense, wasn't it," Louis says. Harry doesn't say anything, most likely because he's too busy coming to speak. "Maybe not right away," he says anyway, in answer to Harry's question. "Maybe, though."

\-----

"Ugh, you're right," Louis tugs up his zip, leaves the button of his trousers undone. "It _does_ feel like I'm wearing a parka. Snug, like."

"I told you so, didn't I?" Harry says.

"Well, it's not like it slows you down, any, eh?" Louis nudges Harry with his knee. He doesn't think he'll ever get accustomed to the way Harry wants him, how badly Harry wants him, but he can't resist teasing anyway, even though the last time he did, Harry had sulked and refused to blow him. Louis had been surprised at how much he'd wanted that blowjob after the fact.

"Shut up," Harry says, laying back down so his chest presses against the tent of Louis' erection. "We'll see if you're any better." He pushes at the hem of Louis' t-shirt with his hands until Louis curls up enough to pull it off entirely, and then wiggles when they're skin to skin. "You're still really hard," he observes, sliding farther down the length of Louis' body until his chin digs in just above the waistband of Louis' trousers.

"If you're gonna blow me," Louis suggests, just a bit breathless as he looks down at Harry, "it'll just be a waste of a condom."

"I was just admiring the view," Harry tells him, hugging him around the thighs. "You're gorgeous."

"The window for giving my willy compliments is over," Louis says, because sometimes he thinks Harry hasn't ever seen _himself_. "It's not going to get any harder."

"Just you, then," Harry says, climbing back up his body to kiss him. He sighs happily. "Just you that's gorgeous." He pushes down with his hips, rubbing their cocks against each other, and Louis is fine, sensation not blunted much at all through the latex. He moves his hips in slow circles, trying for more steady pressure than quick jabs of friction, still a bit doubtful about the durability of the condom, too wary of the teeth of his zip where they press into him. He hooks his fingers in Harry's hair and tugs as they kiss, pulling his legs up to brace them so he can push back more easily, get more contact between the lengths of their bodies. Harry's only in his pants and his feet are bare where Louis has his ankles crossed behind him.

"So _can_ you come," Harry mutters, still rocking, starting to move faster, "just like this? Or do you need--"

"I think," Louis says, letting go of Harry's hair with one hand to reach down between them and push his zip back down, slipping his fingers inside. He rubs at himself with his palm and takes a deep breath. "I might need to--"

"Oh my god," Harry says, following the motion of Louis' hand as he takes his cock out of his pants and begins to stroke it, the surface of the pre-lubed condom slightly tacky under his fingers. "Are you really gonna--"

"I might," Louis breathes, "I might, actually," and sucks a bruise onto the underside of Harry's chin.

"I wanna," Harry turns his head and mumbles into the side of Louis' neck, "I wanna pull you in," he says, "I wanna touch you, I want--"

"Yeah," Louis nods, tipping his head back, baring more of it for Harry to stick his face in, to kiss, to bite, _anything_.

"Can I," Harry says, one hand already on Louis' hip, fingers curling and his thumb hooking into his waistband.

"Yeah," Louis says, "yes," to everything, feels Harry tug him closer until the back of his hand hits the line of Harry's hard cock, feels Harry hook his leg round Louis' and thrust up against him. Harry's hand slides back over his hip, fingers touching his arse as his thumb pushes down on his trousers, not enough to expose skin but enough to suggest it. Harry kisses him again, desperate, breathing hard in Louis' face, returning Louis' own breath to him, and Louis gives his cock one more tight stroke from base to tip, hand twisting. He feels the condom intact beneath his fingers and nearly sobs with relief as he comes, moaning against Harry's lips.

Harry holds him tight, murmuring encouragement and nonsense, saying, "stay here, Lou, can you stay with me? Can you stay? Oh my _god_ ," and Louis can hear the sharp intake of breath as Harry bucks up against him, coming into his own pants. They come down together, giggling a bit, and Louis tucks in his chin to look down at his hand, still curled around his cock as though protectively, holding the condom on.

"Well," he says.

"Was that all right?" Harry asks sleepily, cracking one eye open from where he's laying already slack-faced on Louis' arm.

"It was--" Louis hesitates. He's spent so long couching his muddled feelings in terms that reflect his numb state, his distrust of his own desires, his unwillingness to make Harry too hopeful that he could want Harry as much or as deeply as Harry would like. "A happy memory," he answers honestly. "Yeah, I think it was."

\-----

"I was thinking I might go for a swim later," Louis says, splaying his fingers out across Harry's chest, palm over two nipples.

Harry snorts a laugh, his face red and his breath still a bit shaky. "You're thinking this now?" he asks.

Louis shrugs. "You could join me," he offers. "I was thinking we could skinny dip."

"Isn't that supposed to be really unhygienic or something?" Harry says, biting his lip. He turns on his side to peel the condom off his cock, dropping it into the bin beside the bed, and Louis' hand falls to his bicep.

"They're gonna clean the pool anyway, in the morning," Louis points out, curling his fingers round the muscle there.

"I was more thinking," Harry says, turning back to Louis, "we might get loads of chlorine irritating our bits and stuff."

"You think we might need medical treatment?" Louis frowns, dubious, then grins as he pictures it. "What a headline, though, eh?" he says, poking at Harry with his free hand and sliding his knee between both of Harry's.

Harry goes still, Louis' hand grasped in his with fingers poised over one of his extra nipples. "You said skinny-dipping," he says, numbly, realising after the fact. "Like, naked? You and me?"

Louis presses his lips together and stares very hard at the way Harry has his hand wrapped around four of his fingers. He twists his hand experimentally and Harry's grip immediately loosens, though not enough to let go entirely. "That's generally the accepted definition of skinny-dipping, yes," he says.

"It's just," Harry says, "you've not been completely naked before. With me."

"Well, it'd be in a pool, wouldn't it," Louis points out. "It's not sexy naked."

"Everything is sexy naked," Harry argues, leaning closer to Louis, crowding him a bit.

"Everything looks strange underwater," Louis says, determined to disagree with Harry, because he's hard and in his pants and he doesn't feel sexy at all. "And crooked, and wavy. And don't even get me started on the shrinkage."

"You're the one who suggested it, Lou," Harry tells him, a smile curving his lips. He moves their joined hands to rest on Louis' hip, over his pants. "All right?" he asks. "Or did you want to go do it now?" The touch of Harry's hand over Louis' is light and reassuring and Harry's naked, completely bare and stretched out next to him, summer-tanned and unashamed. There's nothing sexual at all about his cock, limp, or the fond hopeful look he casts up at Louis, lips bitten as he waits for a response, and Louis watches him for a moment, and thinks.

Louis thinks he wants to come.

"We can do it after," he says, pulling his hand free from Harry's to reach behind him. He knocks the box of condoms off the nightstand as he rummages around for one, settling on the handful he collects between his fingers. He turns his back to roll the condom on, never able to take the full force of Harry's gaze, but as he gives himself a few strokes in his fist, he curls easily into the way Harry drapes his arm around his shoulders, and throws his leg over Harry's hip.

"Like this," he says, leaning up with his weight so that Harry rolls onto his back and Louis can straddle him. He closes his eyes and tugs himself and it's fine, it's enough. He thinks about the way Harry touches him just to be kind and he doesn't need it to be more than that, just feels loved and wanted and like he doesn't have to be anything to anyone, can just be himself. He feels like he can come and it will be all right, like he can be afraid and it will still be all right.

Harry makes a strange, choked sound, palming Louis' hips, and encourages Louis to bend to kiss him, slipping his tongue into Louis' mouth and letting Louis suck it. He's not hard again, not yet, but he's already breathing like he wants more, kissing Louis fiercely and digging his fingers into Louis' skin through his pants.

Louis' knuckles brush Harry's cock and he tears away from their kiss, gasping, propping himself up with one hand by Harry's head. He watches both of their cocks as he comes, biting his lip and going a bit fuzzy about what Harry is murmuring in his ear, but he can feel Harry's hot breath and the weight of his own dick in his hand.

"Louis," Harry says, petting his hip gently. "Louis, say something."

Louis shrugs, at a loss for what to say. Far from numb, far from pain, he feels the sum of everything else, a bit bare and a bit honest. A bit happy.

"Let's go skinny-dipping," he says, rolling off the bed to carefully remove his condom. He stands and snaps his pants back up, then thinks better of it. "Let's get naked," he says, and then, off Harry's wicked grin, he shoves his pants all the way down.

 

end.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a coda to [Shut Your Mouth and Hold Your Breath](http://archiveofourown.org/works/470924) and will probably make a lot more sense if you've read that first. I get asked from time to time to tell the story of how Louis and Harry recover in the wake of the events of Shut Your Mouth.... This is that story.
> 
> I owe it almost entirely to disarm_d, without whose encouragement and Orgasm Denial Pornathon this almost certainly would not have been written. Thanks also to checkthemargins; you feel me.


End file.
